


Excommunicado

by YumeNouveau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Assassin AU, Assassin Sirius, Fight Scene, Groping, Hitman AU, If you can't tell, M/M, Remus is the tailor, Suits, Tailor Remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumeNouveau/pseuds/YumeNouveau
Summary: Assassin Sirius Black lives his life by a code.  He does his job, no strings, no attachments.  Until one morning after a close encounter, he finds himself in need of a new suit and wonders if the tailor may be offering more than a business relationship.Assassin AU where Sirius is a hit man and Remus a tailor working for the High Table of the assassins guild.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this AU came from. One minute I'm rewatching both John Wick movies in preparation to go see the third, the next I wonder where our boys would fit into this crazy underworld of sexy AF fight scenes and suited up assassins.  
> Also, if I write more the rating will DEFINITELY get bumped up to M, so...you're welcome?

“Is the tailor in?” 

The secretary looked up at Sirius, her demeanor professional, casual even when observing the bullet holes to his suit, the sharp gash of crimson painted across a cheekbone.

“I’ve never known him not to be,” she said coldly, pressing a button to unlock a door to her left. “Right this way Mr. Black.”

He nodded, following the gesture of her tattooed arm through a gateway of London’s antiquated crown molding into the unknown. New target. New town. And after his successful the previous night, Sirius was in need of a new suit. 

Thus a new tailor. The man’s back was to him, slim form outlined in faint pinstripes against a sky of the darkest navy blue. A walking advertisement to his own superior skills. When he turned on his heal, the tailor cocked his head, assessing, measuring, calculating. Sirius raked a hand through the mess of his hair, fall-away strands from an unkept bun, and wish he’d taken the time to clean himself up before dropping in. He suddenly felt wanting.

“Mr. Black,” the tailor said, not holding out a hand yet stepping close by way of introduction. It was one of sight and smell. Sirius noted the faint amber flecks in the brown of his eyes, the immaculate keep of his wavy gold hair, the alluring smell of a foreign cologne he could not place. 

“How may I help you this morning?” the man finished, raising a brow at the rents in his suit yet not presuming his own necessity even when Sirius came calling upon his doorstep. 

“I find myself in need of a new suit,” Sirius said finally.

“Ah, of course. Day or evening wear?”

“Evening.”

“Cut?”

“Slim. Italian,” Sirius replied and the man nodded his approval.

“Lining?”

“Tactical.” 

The tailor touched a long forefinger finger to his lips, an approving sound low in his throat. “I’ll need to take your measurements and figuration.”

“Of course.” Sirius slid his jacket off, the clink of impacted bullets in the lining a proclamation of another day the victor against an army of his peers.

He circled Sirius once, slowly, and for a shocking moment Sirius realized how it must feel to be helpless. Scanning the room, a reflex born of self preservation, he found only one doorway, two shuttered windows, a letter opener, and a fountain pen he could use in a pinch. The man surly had a gun somewhere, unless he were stupid. Or cocky. But the man finished his perimeter and only graced Sirius with a small smile. An expression to put him at ease, something Sirius could feign but never quite feel.

Then the tailor knelt, golden head bowed before Sirius and his heart fluttered with a soft thrill so very unlike the harsh jolt of taking a life. 

“May I?” the tailor asked, before glancing up into Sirius’ eyes. Sirius nodded though he knew not what he was asked, but was graced with a small chuckle when the man prodded more firmly at his shoe. “You’ll need to step out of them. I need to assess your full height.”

“Ah,” Sirius said, toing them off with the man’s assistance. Fingers traced the hem of his pants and Sirius found himself wishing to step into that knowing touch, to be appreciated as lovingly as the tailor could look upon a piece of stitched and sewn fabric. 

“I think a slimmer pant leg would suit you better,” the tailor said, finally standing and giving Sirius a satisfied tilt of his chin.

“Whatever you want...think is best.”

“I can have it done by tomorrow…”

“Tonight.” Sirius cut him off. “I need it tonight.”

“Ah, a party then? Well that can be arranged.” The tailor’s eyes caught as Sirius pulled two large gold coins from his pocket and set them on the desk beside him. “What time will you be needing it Mr. Black?” The man made an easy stride around his polished desk to sit in a chair, jotting down a string of numbers before looking up again at his client. 

“Nine o’clock,” Sirius replied, knowing that would give him ample time to get to his destination, gain entrance and eliminate his target. 

“Then I think you should stop by around seven.”

“It takes two hours for a final fitting?” Sirius said, surprised. He’d seen many a tailor in many a town, but this was at odds with his previous business dealings.

“No.”

Sirius looked up and saw the man lean back in his chair, crossing his long legs gracefully and touching his lip again with the curve of an elegant index finger. His mouth suddenly dry, Sirius swallowed.

Work, never pleasure. It echoed through his heart, a mantra to survive when he never really lived. His world was tables for one, single bed rooms, no dependents, no strings attached. Strings could tie you down but at this very moment Sirius found himself in need of a lifeline. 

“I can be here at six-thirty.”

The tailor smiled. “See you then, Mr. Black.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sirius Black’s return to the tailor that evening was both unfashionably early and not entirely of his own design. After returning to the London Continental to shower, shave, and attend to the small cut that traced his cheekbone with the artful calculation of a Hollywood make-up artist, he was ambushed upon leaving the consecrated grounds. 

Four men, in most cases a less than noteworthy fight, yet each seemed more capable than the last in blocking Sirius’ own moves as instinctual as Sirius breathed them into existence. It was a much more one-sided fight once Sirius got their guns away, thrown into the river along with one unfortunate man who got a kick to the chest and flipped over the railing into the icy depths below. 

Of course one of his brothers took that opportunity to stab Sirius in the shoulder, deep through the muscle, and Sirius flinched before pulling the blade free and sliding it like a butter knife across the man’s exposed throat. The remaining two seemed the most adept, their moves calculated, mirroring his actions with effortless blocks, lacking the cockiness of their fallen brethren. They waited for openings, small jabs to wear him down, sap his strength, fell him slowly like an ax to a deep rooted tree. The warmth of blood pooled down his left arm, his life force dripping like ice cream on a humid summer’s day, yet in Sirius Black’s world everything was a weapon. He flung the crimson drops into one man’s eyes, blinding, debilitating him with opportunistic intent, just enough for Sirius to slip in with a killing blow. Then the last man ran. 

Odd, Sirius thought, an unlikely cowardice by such an experienced fighter. He watched the attacker flee but did not give chase. It was not his fight to pick and he’d much rather indulge when he did not have an appointment to meet. 

Thought drained from his mind into the ether, less tangible than the blood that soaked his dark shirt, his black jacket, yet more troubling by far. He recalled walking, guided to a set of stairs, a shop wherein he once recalled a smile, an invitation, some intangible sense of hope. The world became a sepia canvas, listing and abstracted, color and humanity draining away in the stumble of knees on cobblestone and a crimson hand print on a set of marble stairs. Vaguely he wondered how long his blood would stain the stone after he was gone before the darkness took him and all he had now was his dreams.

As a man with no home, Sirius was never surprised to awaken in a bed that was not his own. Yet this one he did not recall falling asleep in. Two doors, closed, on opposite sides of the room. A window, shuttered, yet he could see rooftops along eye level. Third story then, or even fourth. There was an IV in his right arm, a bandage around his left shoulder. Flexing his fingers, he felt the sting of healing muscles but his movement seemed unimpeded. There was a fire poker beside a cold hearth, an umbrella in a stand, and two pens on the nightstand, easily accessible weapons in a pinch. 

Sirius was just wondering if he should pull expect friend or foe when a door opened and a familiar face emerged from the intricacies of the doorway. 

“Ah Mr. Black. You’re awake.” The tailor’s eyes betrayed an actual happiness that was difficult to fake. Then the man had helped him, took him in when Sirius touched the steps of this consecrated building. He could have left him there, pretended to not see Sirius bloody his doorstep. But he hadn’t. Sirius was intrigued once again.

“How long was I out?” Sirius asked, his throat dry as he swallowed around the words.

“A little over a day,” the tailor said, sitting straight in a pristine suit on the side of the bed. “I fetched a doctor, she tended your wound. Your assailant hit an artery, another few minutes and I would have been calling a coroner instead.”

Evading death was no shock to Sirius, he’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for years. 

“Assailants. There were four.”

“Ah, I was wondering if the legends were nothing but if you could be taken out by a single assassin. Well then, the Sartorial is your home, as long as you need it. The High Table has ordered that I take extra special care of you Mr. Black.”

“So you rescued me under their orders?”

“Not initially,” the tailor said. “I must admit, I can’t resist a man crawling to me on his knees.”

Sirius furrowed his brow and pushed to sit up straighter in bed. In what he now suspected was the man’s own bed.

“Look Tailor…”

“Please. You’re in my bed after all Mr. Black. Call me Remus.”

“Remus.” Sirius rolled the name around on his tongue. It felt fabricated but he decidedly liked that taste nevertheless. “Is that your given or surname?”

The tailor smiled and his eyes crinkled at the edges. “Is an assassin who goes by “Black” in any position to judge a name?”

“Fair enough,” Sirius said, conceding the point with a raise of an eyebrow. 

“Rest. Here you are safe,” the tailor Remus encouraged, and though he had not a single reason to do so, Sirius trusted him at his word.

He slept, deep and restful for the first time in ages. When he awoke it was to moonlight streaming through gauzy curtains and soft breathing intimately close. The tailor lay in a plush red and gold armchair, facing the door least Sirius sneak out without his notice. Sirius almost felt bad as he rose quietly, a thief in the night, stealing away from the only man who had helped him without a demand of coin or blood oath in return. 

* * *

The darkness had called Sirius away from the cleaver fingered man with the angelic face bathed in moonlight. Another job, another city, yet his thoughts were often occupied over the next two weeks, a speculation upon the mystery of a man who had witnessed his vulnerability yet not flinched away. A man still in possession of a suit and he then with an excuse to set his gaze upon brown eyes that smiled upon him without asking for it back. 

It was easy to find himself back in London, a room at the Continental booked and secured but not yet visited as his feet took him instead along a cobblestone street up marble steps that no longer bore his bloody hand print. Sirius let himself in, the same bored receptionist gave him a glance as warm as if he were a gnat in her teacup, and waved him into the back. 

“Mr. Black, so good to see you again. You look more vigorous than when last our paths crossed,” Remus said, straightening from the mock up of a suit on a headless manikin he was shoving pins into with sureness born of aptitude. Though Sirius could not forget that smile it was nearly infectious in person and he found the corners of his mouth curve us slightly when it was directed his way.

 

His blond hair was tidy, perhaps a bit longer than he recalled, touching the nape of his neck in the envy of Sirius’ very fingers. A grey suit, a slight blue tinge, graced his perfect frame, and Sirius marveled again that a man could command his thoughts from assassination to aesthetics in an entirely new and thoroughly baffling way. 

“I confess, no knife wound brought me to your door this time,” Sirius replied.

“Then I assume you’re here for your suit?” 

“No.” Why it took more courage to say a simple word than jumping from a rooftop, Sirius could spend an eternity pondering, yet the truth had to be spoken and he was a man of his word. 

Remus smiled knowingly and pulled his bottom lip between his front teeth. But though Remus had risen, surprisingly he strode not toward Sirius, but away. A long hand ran along a panel, pressing a hidden inlay upon which a closet was revealed and within a rack of four pristine hanging suits. He pulled one out, midnight black, simple, a fine weave, no frills yet it screamed class and craftsmanship. He walked past Sirius to hang it along a privacy screen.

“You man change behind there,” the tailor indicated, stepping back.

“I told you, I didn’t come here for the suit.”

“Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it on you.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow then shrugged and ducked behind the folded partition, a thin layer of rice paper through which the dusky silhouette of Remus could be seen leaning casually against his desk. 

If Remus was no longer interested, he would not press for more, disappointed though he was. He’d spent weeks with his spare thoughts wandering to the beauty of a blond man in a fitted navy suit and upon arrival realized memory did not do him justice. Leaving the man without a word under the cover of darkness had in all likelihood soured anything further springing between them and it was probably just as well. He had grown accustomed to being alone, he knew before long his fantasy of the man’s face and agile fingers would fade into hazy anonymity as he took himself in hand in a cold bed in a lonely room that was not his own.

He unbuttoned his own jacket and white shirt, throwing them casually over the framing, and only then did his fingers fall upon the fine fabric he’d been provided. The cloth was of the deepest shade, shadows gathered under a hint of moonlight, the weave soft and yet with enough give to ease his movements. A black shirt and tie to match the fallen twilight completed the ensemble, and once he’d done up the jacket and pants Sirius marveled at the man who could create such a work of art to fold over his form.

He stepped from the screen’s privacy to public display, longing for a mirror to see if the fit was as much a revelation as the feel. Remus’ eyes were upon him, slightly narrowed with calculation, yet a small satisfied smile upon his lips.

“Indulge me,” the man said, making a circular motion with one forefinger.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow, nevertheless turning a slow circle as Remus made an appreciative noise low in his throat. The vibration went straight into Sirius’ bloodstream and he wondered if Remus took notice at the tightening in his trousers. 

Remus then rose, a slow stride around his person, looking up and down his form as Sirius eyed him until the man was over his shoulder. “How does it feel?” the tailor asked, the warmth of his breath washing over the exposed skin above Sirius’ collar.

“Exquisite,” Sirius replied, and it was true. He’d never been fitted so well for a suit, especially by a man who needed only his eyes to gauge.

“The chest is reinforced body armor, light weight, bullet proof,” Remus said, bringing a hand around from behind to stroke along the lapel right beneath Sirius’ ribcage. 

The tips of his fingers grazed the fabric yet Sirius swore the could feel it on his very skin. He shivered and could hear the smile in Remus’ next words. 

“The sleeves and pants are a mesh alloy, not bullet proof since you’ll be in need of flexibility of movement, yet resistant to blades. I thought it pertinent after our last meeting.” He ran a hand along Sirius’ arm, shoulder to elbow and back up, his thumb taking liberty with a rubbing motion.

“How thoughtful,” Sirius said, his breath heavy as he felt the pull of fabric tightening and shifted his weight as casually as possible.

“You will, of course, let me know if anything is in need of altering. If any area is too tight perhaps?”

Damn, the man knew exactly what his words were doing to Sirius, that posh accent whispered so close to his ear he could feel the flush creep over his skin. He held his own body straight, feeling the ghost of Remus an inch behind him, his words the enticing breadcrumbs thrown out if he would only follow.

“You’re the expert.” Sirius replied, his voice even as he could manage given the stiffening of his cock and the almighty need to turn around and take the other man in his arms. “How does it seem to you?”

“The fit is exceptional. I do think I’ve outdone myself. Yet, it does now seem a bit snug here.” The man waved a hand over yet never touched the front of his pants despite the now obvious bulge. “If you’ll permit me?”

“Please,” Sirius breathed and he felt the slight nuzzle of Remus’ nose against the back of his neck before sure fingers found their prize. He gasped, a small sound in the back of his throat, and he felt Remus’ smile seared into his skin, haughty and satisfied. 

If mere words could do this to him Sirius shuddered at what hands could accomplish. A long lazy forefinger traced his length, from groin to where it arched against his lower abdomen just below the belt. His skin felt hot everywhere, his knees weak, all his considerable muscle strength brought to bear in the seemingly impossible feat of keeping him upright. Then a second finger joined the first, not a lazy graze but seeking introduction to the hardened flesh, the ridge of the swollen head, the thick base as Sirius pressed into Remus’ hand seeking more. He wished for an intimate acquaintance and when he felt Remus’ palm press into him entirely it was as if his very soul sighed in relief. 

Murmuring into his neck, not quite kisses but the lazy whisper of lips and soft words, Remus began to tug at him through the fabric, his fingers not able to encircle but halfheartedly grasp the underside of his throbbing cock where it strained against fabric. It was more than Sirius needed, his body so primed with want and aching for fulfillment that he was sure he’d spill sooner than intended and make a royal mess of his new suit. Yet he could not find the logical side of his brain to care in the slightest as Remus took pleasure with his body in a way that made Sirius feel more desired than he could ever remember. 

If he could not conjure logic than he certainly could not be troubled for embarrassment as Sirius let out a soft groan when those beautiful fingers strayed from his needy cock.

“Hmm, I find I’m not quite satisfied after all,” Remus said, stepping back, causing Sirius to turn as the warmth of his body retracted.

“Oh?” Sirius asked, chest heaving, attempting at casual when he was only moments and strokes from coming.

“I do like things to be perfect. Perhaps you could try out the suit and I could check on its fit later? After closing?”

Come to think of it, now that he could hear anything over his own labored breathing and the blood rushing in his ears, Sirius was just able to make out the hum of conversation beyond the wall of the receptionist and what surely must be another client. Damn his timing, Sirius knew he should have come later with less chance of interruption.

“Tonight I have a...party,” Sirius said, thinking on the job he was in town for. A quick hit, an easy target. He should be done with time to spare. Remus shrugged indifferently so Sirius hastened to continue least the man think he had no wish to see him again. Far from it. “It won’t take long. I have a room at the Continental. Join me.”

“If you like,” Remus said with a nod as casual as if they were discussing household chores. The tailor has slid behind his desk so quickly that Sirius could not see if the man was similarly affected and the mystery was confounding to say the least. He hadn’t once kissed Sirius, had only spent minutes in his company with tantalizing barely-there touches and whispered words and yet Sirius was primed like a bowstring about to snap. And Remus acted as if nothing was happening. Maddening.

“After ten. I’ll let Concierge know to let you into my room,” Sirius said, wishing his job were over, yet the anticipation would hold him in its heady grasp as it had the past two weeks and Sirius was nothing if not a patient man.

“I’ll be there Mr. Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you all think, I know I have other things I should be working on but this is just so fun to write, I love the world and getting these boys to play in it. Expect much more smut in the next ch as I up the rating!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: After leaving the incredibly enticing tailor earlier that day, assassin Sirius Black has a job to do, but not before he invites the man to his hotel for later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me longer than expected to finish this! For anyone who's not into crossovers, THIS ISN'T A CROSSOVER. I just got really wrapped up in the idea of an assassin AU, there are no John Wick characters in it, just a world of assassins and their rules and consequences.

The job was simple. Quick, painless. His mark had died instantly and Sirius stole silently from the man’s flat as blood pooled and forever marred the faded orange carpet. With luck it would be days before the smell alerted authorities to his hoarded rooms and by then Sirius would be well away and out of London. But before that he had a tailor to see.

He strode into the luxury of the Continental Hotel, the consecrated ground taking a weight off his shoulders that allowed him to relax a minuscule amount under the roof of its protection. Before heading to the elevator Sirius caught the eye of Concierge, making his way to Minerva where she stood primly at her desk. 

“Good evening Mr. Black. I hope you had a productive evening.”

“Very much so,” he replied carefully. She knew exactly what he did, what they all did. Hell, Minerva had been one of the best assassins until an injury had taken her off the active list five years back. Yet still they played this coy game of words.

“Well then, I do hope you and your guest enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Ah, so Remus had decided to join him. Sirius almost smiled but at the last moment instead saved that gesture for the one who elicited it.

“Thank you Minerva,” Sirius said with a nod before making for the elevator and his room. 

Anticipation thrummed through his veins, heady and thrilling in a way that was so unfamiliar yet so welcome in the strangeness of his life. The elevator sounded, distant as his thoughts roamed, to what Remus might be doing in his rooms, alone. Would he be clothed? He hoped so, the thought of taking that perfect suit off his form would be like unwrapping a gift. His feet took him swiftly down the sparse hall to his door, unmarked, the slide of an electronic key gaining him an almost silent entry. 

When he looked within, Sirius could not help the small smile that graced his lips. 

“I’m guessing your party went well,” Remus said, one hip cocked against the wall that separated living area from bedroom, at ease in a room not his own in a way Sirius never could be. Remus held a drink in one hand, circulating the liquid lazily, his honey-colored eyes instead drinking in Sirius. Fully clothed, the long neatly pressed lines of his grey suit lengthened his legs, the slim fitted jacket accentuating shoulders and a chest that Sirius longed to press his ear to, to listen to the life that beat within. “The suit appears intact. How did it serve you?”

Sirius took one step closer, then another. He wished to be in the same space, breath the same air as this perfect being that had graced him with his presence. 

“Not a scratch,” he said, running the very tips of his fingers down the lapel and down to his hip. “As you described, it is light yet durable. Flexible.”

Remus swallowed and Sirius was proud he could recall how to flirt, a dance so old he’d nearly forgotten. 

“I was curious about that,” Remus replied, setting his drink on the counter to his right. Straightening, the tailor looked Sirius from dress shoe to brow, studying, assessing, lingering on waist, neck, lips, thengazing out from long lashes to catch Sirius’ reactive stare.

“You wished to recheck the fit, as I recall,” Sirius said, his heart racing as he remembered just how Remus had touched him, light fingers over cloth, yet setting fire to the skin beneath nonetheless. 

 

“I did. I do,” Remus assured him with another step forward. His actions were as bold as Sirius’ own when he was assured in his movements, his skill, his proficiency to accomplish a task. A hand trailed along Sirius’ dark tie, pulling at the knot, losing it before tracing a line along the buttons of the dark shirt beneath, popping them deftly open one by one. 

When the tailor reached the last one he paused, contemplative, leaving it still holding reluctantly to its clasp as he turned his assessing gaze upon Sirius once again. 

 

“I don’t bottom,” Remus said suddenly, the no nonsense tone insuring Sirius took him at his word. 

 

“Neither do I,” Sirius replied, and though he hoped this affair could still continue, he wondered how Remus would react to this turn of events. The tailor simply shrugged and then smiled, the distance between them suddenly reverted to the intimacy Sirius sorely missed even for that tense moment.

“Then we’d better come up with some other ideas on how to occupy our time together Mr. Black,” Remus answered, popping open the very last button. 

Sirius held his breath, keenly aware of every moment Remus’ fingers inadvertently caressed his skin. Slowly they drifted down his chest, abdomen, and then stopped at the waistband of his trousers, tracing the fabric before Remus brought his eyes up to meet Sirius’.

The connection between them felt so electric, static conducting baser instincts into insatiable attraction, and Sirius could not help but press forward, seaking Remus’ lips. He saw the momentary widening of Remus’ soft brown eyes before the man ducked his head to the side, presenting his neck instead, an offering Sirius could ill refuse even in his disappointment. The fabric of Remus’ collar was silken against his cheek, the skin heated and flushed under his lips as he worked open the shirt in search of more. 

A smile graced Remus’ lips, eager and satisfied, as Sirius lavished wordless praise upon his skin, his own hands breaching the barrier to grasp at Sirius’ hips, thumbs caressing hip bones, fingers grasping his lower back into muscles that quivered in anticipation. Sirius needed this so badly, this human connection he often lacked in his solitary existence, the craving of flesh on flesh, to feel wanted, needed, desired. Nothing replaced it.

Perhaps sensing the necessity of his very touch, Remus grabbed at Sirius forcefully, rolling their pelvises together and stepping into Sirius’ space, one thigh demanding entrance between his own. Sirius obliged, the heat and hardness of Remus could be felt through his clothing, insistent against his hip as Remus rocked against him. Biting his lip, Sirius held back the moan he wished to utter, so used to holding back that silence was more comfortable even with intimacy. Apparently Remus lived for a challenge though, for the man smiled knowingly before grinding harder, hands fluttering across Sirius skin, admiring the muscles of his back, his abdomen, brushing the peaks of his nipples, the hard lines of his collarbones exposed by the open shirt. 

Touch starved, Sirius pressed in closer, his breath coming more rapid as he exhaled into Remus’ skin. Those skillful fingers quickly turned greedy, trailing down Sirius’ torso, pausing briefly as Remus pulled away only to suddenly and forcefully press to Sirius’ crotch. His cock jumped at the friction, stretching the fabric of his trousers obscenely. Remus let out a satisfied noise deep in his throat, curling his long fingers to cup Sirius within his grasp. 

Sirius tilted his head back and closed his eyes, lost to everything other than the feel of Remus playing with his cock, echoes of the touches earlier that day in the tailor’s shop, moments he'd fantasized about, wishing to recreate them even as he hoped for something more. Though it would be a tragedy to dirty such perfect clothing, Sirius did not even care if he came in his trousers as Remus pressed his palm in, almost causing him to groan in pleasure.

So engrossed was Sirius that he did not even notice Remus had unzipped his fly until the cold air of the room played across his now exposed cock. He looked down, watched as Remus’ hands stuttered and stilled, a sharp canine biting his bottom lip as his Adam's apple bobbed once. An appreciative noise played across Remus’ lips and Sirius was suddenly intensely sure Remus was once again taking his measurements.

A different man may have blushed, made a cocky remark or looked away from the intensity of that gaze, but Sirius felt no shame. Though he hoped he was to Remus’ liking, he’d never been made to feel in any way substandard below the belt, in fact far from it. Nevertheless Sirius felt himself holding his breath as Remus took that moment that seemed an eternity.

Finally a word, spoken from beautiful lips, and Sirius could once again breath.

“Perfect.”

Then Remus was on his knees, swiftly before Sirius could blink, and in one deft movement as if he could do nothing but give into this addiction, Remus took Sirius’ cock down his throat. No amount of self control could insure Sirius held back the gasp that echoed through the room, the stiffening of his entire body, the way his hands fell to tangle and mess Remus’ perfectly styled hair. He gripped it, silken strands anchoring him as Remus did sinful things that rocked his control like a ship in a storm. The heat of the man’s tongue, the soft hum of a moan around his cock, every ridge of the roof of his mouth adding friction and intensity. 

He felt full to bursting, his eyes darkening as Sirius looked down as Remus’ lips wrapped around his length, stretched wide and reddened to match the blush of his cock that ached within his mouth. Soft suction and a slow thrust began as Remus’ hands found and gripped at Sirius’ partially clothed ass, pulling at the fabric as he kneaded the strong muscles beneath. 

Sirius reached out a hand to the nearby counter, needing something to push against other than Remus’ face onto his length, knowing fully well that if he gave in and fucked those hungry lips he’d probably choke the man in his need for release. The granite felt cool against the heat of his skin and he clenched it as Remus slid down him further, all the while moaning around his cock like this act turned him on as much as if he were on the receiving end. Indeed, when Sirius chanced a glance downward, he saw the telltale tenting of Remus’ trousers against fine fabric and the slight undulation to his hips as if he were imagining their positions switched. The thought aroused Sirius further and he closed his eyes yet again to the overwhelming pleasure Remus was heaping on his aching cock.

The sad necessity of Sirius’ deftly honed survival instincts, ears tuned even in the near silence of the room, was the sole reason he was able to pick up anything amiss. Initially there was nothing off, simply the slight brush of fabric on skin, a moan soft and low in Remus’ throat, the exuberant pounding of his own pulse deep in Sirius’ ears, but then he heard something, a sound that would not normally cause alarm except that it had stopped right outside his door. 

Footsteps. Soft, the pad of someone accustomed to working the shadows as he did. Another assassin. But here, on consecrated ground? Sirius was quite a stickler for the rules, but that didn’t mean another would not risk termination and death for the right price. 

Again, an unfamiliar sound, a scratch, metal on metal. Someone was attempting to open his door.

Swiftly Sirius grasped at Remus’ shoulders, pulling the tailor to his feet, his expression one to convey the seriousness of the situation as he did up his trousers. 

“Quick, I need you to go in the bedroom,” Sirius said, thumbs digging into the soft linen lining of Remus’ suit as the other man looked at him like he was completely mad. “Turn on the light and close the door. Don’t come out until I say it’s safe. Do it.”

Remus opened his mouth, looking about to argue, but shut it and instead nodded, striding quickly to the room and doing as he bid. Without hesitation Sirius took in the sparse room, grabbing a drape to almost completely shut out the light from outside, flipping the switch to darken the room, and crouching behind an armchair. The only visible illumination was from the crack beneath the bedroom door, sufficient for Sirius’ eyes to adapt but not enough for one suddenly stepping from a bright hallway into a pitch black room. Sirius only hoped it would be enough.

The slight clicking and tapping continued, faint, barely there noises that he would have missed had they taken their activities to the bedroom. Or that bathroom. Sirius’ cock rose at the thought but he pushed the idea away quickly, for another night, another time. If they survived.

It was only moments before the assassin gained entrance, the quiet push of the door, just as Sirius shut his eyes tight to block out the light before it dulled his nightvision. He tuned his other senses, making out a slight footstep into the room, then another, and one more as the hiss of a pistoned hinge began to close. The were light on their feet, not a heavy person then, or tall, and as he sniffed the air he smelled no cologne, perfume or soap of note, a professional then who knew how to mask their entrance. Someone he would normally not wish to cross paths with.

He heard them turn, an almost imperceptible whisper of fabric, the twist of feet on carpet, the brush of a gloved hand on a metal handle as they attempted to shut the door as silently as possible. And that moment, right as all the light was leached from the room, was when Sirius struck. Keeping low to the ground, Sirius swiveled a leg out, catching his opponent in the shin, hearing a gasp as they were hit out of nowhere. But they were a professional, hardly missing a beat before kicking out with their uninjured leg, a blow that Sirius only barely missed. Only a faint outline of the assassin was visible, yet the sharp gleam of a knife in their right hand moved with deadly intent. 

Sirius lept back, arching away and turning as the knife hit the wall, a miscalculation on the intruder’s part that he quickly turned to his own advantage. At the same moment he brought his knee up and forearm down on the assassin’s wrist, the jarring sensation knocking the weapon from their grasp to clatter to the floor. Now having gained the upper hand, Sirius attempted to further disable the attacker, striking out at any opening he saw before his opponent had a chance for their vision to adjust to the inky atmosphere of the room. 

His breath came hard now, panting between the small noises he held back, not quite in fear of his life yet willing to concede this assassin was truly skillful. Though not nearly as tall or strong, they utilized both lithe and grace to their advantage, ducking, weaving, blocking and beginning to land more and more hits as their eyes began to discern Sirius from the curtains of shadow. With the proficiency of instinct born of their occupation, the assassin jumped to the nearby armchair, using their momentum to spring off it and wrap their thighs around Sirius’ neck. 

Suddenly losing air, Sirius batted at them, jabbing with fists and forearms but to no avail. He could easily hold his breath for over a minute, but why tempt fate or prolong this already trying fight? So with all his might Sirius pushed back, ramming his back against a wall, thrusting the assassin’s head and shoulders at the unforgiving surface with all his might. It did the trick, the tight hold of their thighs loosened with a gasp and Sirius was able to fling them to the ground. He turned on his toes, slamming his knee into their back to press them to the floor and stifle their breath as he reached to pin their arms behind their back. A flailing arm caught him in the side but he grabbed it forcefully, causing the attacker to yelp as he twisted both arms at an awkward angle but not enough to snap bones. Not yet at least.

Sirius turned at the sound of the bedroom door opening, a flash of light as Remus appeared, striding purposefully forward. A sleek black handgun preceded him, held steady in two hands, muzzle deliberately pointed at the intruder. 

“You should have waited,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow at Remus who shrugged, appearing quite nonchalant despite this entire ordeal.

“I’m not as helpless as I look,” he said, and Sirius believed him. “So who then would break the sanctity of this place in order to kill you?” he continued.

Sirius did wonder. The rules were firm, no fights, no killing on consecrated ground. Justice would be swift. Excommunicado. Every last assassin would be after this breaker of rules. That is if Remus and Sirius didn’t deal with them first.

The attacker struggled, and for just a moment the light of the open door hit their hair, alighting it like fire in a homely hearth. Long and red, bright red.

“What the hell,” Sirius swore, reaching down, grasping the assassin’s chin to swivel their head, face forced into view. 

“Lily?”


End file.
